Chapter VIII "An Astounding Report"

 

Smack! A large rock hit the water with a resounding splash only inches from the Sleuth and the deluge of spray drenched the boys. Chet, at the helm, could hardly see. Wiping the water from his eyes, he gunned the motor and took off. The Sleuth made sternway from shore.

"Cripes!" cried Jerry, mopping his face and looking back towards the cliff cave. "They’ve gone! They sure disappeared in a hurry." He glanced around at the rest of the boys and asked quickly, "Frank, how’s your leg?"

"It’ll be all right, but it sure hurts," Frank admitted as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Never mind that, though," he added with a wan smile. "The main thing is, we found Joe."

"Yes, thank goodness," his brother replied weakly.

Chet had taken the Sleuth into deep water and was now speeding for Bayport. Jerry and Biff got busy trying to make Joe and Frank comfortable. Frank insisted that Joe lay down on the long seat and rest, saying he was fine sitting on the floor of the boat. "It’s easier to just sit here than try to stand up and then sit back down again," he explained. Joe acquiesced, closing his eyes.

"To think I missed finding Joe," Chet said in disgust, over the noise of the motor. "I climbed those cliffs every other time and searched, but when Joe was found, where was I? Sitting in the boat!"

"Good thing you were," Jerry retorted. "It’s lucky for us someone was here to have the Sleuth ready for a fast getaway."

Frank kept his mouth shut and rubbed gently at his throbbing leg.

"Why did it have to be me?" Chet complained. "Some fellows have all the luck. Joe, tell me about your capture. Who were those men who shot at you and threw all those rocks? When did they take you to the cave?"

"Chet, let him rest," Frank intervened protectively. "He’s not ready to talk much yet."

"I think we ought to go back and clean up on that gang!" Biff put in.

"I’d like to learn more about them myself," Frank agreed, "but I think we’d better leave it to the police. Those guys are a tough outfit, and anyway, I want to get Joe home. He’s in bad shape." Shifting, he leaned over and tuned in the radio to contact police headquarters and inform them of the rescue.

"He looks hungry," Chet observed sympathetically, glancing over his shoulder.

"You bet I am," Joe murmured, half-opening his eyes.

Chet grabbed the package of sandwiches he had brought with him and handed them back. "I knew these would come in handy. Dig in."

"Hold it!" Frank intercepted the packet. "No solid food until the doctor says it’s all right," he explained to his puzzled brother.

Joe sighed.

"How about the milk in this Thermos, then?"

"Okay."

Joe raised himself on his elbow and took a few gulps of the milk, then lay back wearily on the seat. Frank clicked off the radio and scooted over so that he was nearer Joe’s head than his feet, took the thermos and held it for his brother until Joe was ready for another few sips. Meanwhile, Jerry and Biff satisfied Chet’s curiosity about their experiences in the cave. When they were done, Chet shook his head with a whistle.

"That was a close squeak."

At the speed they were travelling, it wasn’t long before they reached the Hardys’ boathouse. Frank gingerly got out of the boat and watched as Jerry and Biff helped his brother out. As they made their way to the parking lot, he limped behind the other three, wincing with every step. Chet, who had paused to moor the Sleuth, soon caught up and fell in beside him. "Are you going to need some help getting home?" the chunky boy asked.

"Yeah, we probably are." Frank hadn’t thought about trying to drive with his leg so sore.

"I’ll drive," Biff said, glancing back. "Chet can follow and bring me back to pick up my car later."

"Thanks," Frank said gratefully, and was quiet after that, watching his brother’s unsteady progress. When the foursome reached the Hardy boys’ convertible, Joe sank down on the back seat and stretched out again. Frank took the passenger seat, then leaned back to look at Joe. "Brace yourself," he advised. "Mom’s been going kind of crazy the last couple days, she might get...emotional."

Joe just nodded, his eyes once again closed. Frank studied him, taking in the state of Joe’s clothes- jeans and a plaid shirt donned for the barn party at the Mortons’- now rumpled, torn, stained and generally looking more suitable for doing heavy yardwork than anything else. His hair was an untidy mop and there were dark circles under his eyes. His face remained very pale, and there were bruises and welts on his wrists where the ropes had cut into his skin.

‘At least he’s safe now,’ Frank reminded himself, fighting back a deep pang of anxiety for his brother and a sudden sense of fury at the kidnappers. He resolutely turned his gaze back to the road as Biff steered them towards home.

As he’d expected, their mother was overwhelmed with relief at seeing Joe safe. Frank limped to the phone and called Doctor Bates’ office while Laura exclaimed over Joe, embraced him, and shed several tears of pure relief. Aunt Gertrude hugged him as well, declaring that he deserved the sympathy. "At least this time you didn’t do something harum-scarum and propel yourself into a mess of trouble."

Frank and Joe exchanged a rueful look as Frank went to sit cautiously on the sofa beside Joe. That was exactly what Joe had done, actually; chasing after the man who’d been trying to steal the precious invention from their trunk, despite the thief’s warning to stay away. But neither boy quite felt up to admitting it.

Doctor Bates arrived not long after the summons and examined both the boys carefully. "No internal damage," was his verdict to the concerned women. "Just exhaustion. Joe will be fit in a day or two. Feed him up a bit and let him take it easy. Frank has a deep bruise which will be sore for a while. Use a muscle salve on it, and give him some aspirin."

After the doctor departed, Gertrude disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned with a tray bearing a bowl of thick, steaming soup. She served it to Joe as he sat on the sofa; after the young sleuth had eaten all he could, Laura helped him upstairs. She returned a few moments later, saying fondly, "He was asleep almost the minute he lay down." Then, sitting down on the sofa, she asked eagerly, "How did you find him, Frank?"

Frank related the story of the rescue, giving his aunt full credit for her clue. She smiled and blushed, but said nothing. Laura listened intently, and when he concluded, she embraced him tightly, murmuring, "Thank goodness."

It was not until late that evening, after he had been refreshed by a long, sound sleep, that Joe was able to tell his family what had happened to him. He still looked pale, but good food and rest were beginning to do their work and a trace of color had returned to his cheeks. A shower and a change of clothes had helped too; he looked a lot more like himself.

"Well," he began, looking a little uneasy, "you know at Chet’s party, I chased after that man who was looking in our car trunk. I was afraid he’d gotten his hands on the box, and I didn’t want to waste time checking while he got away. When I got close, someone reached out and grabbed me; I couldn’t see his face in the dark. He covered my mouth so I couldn’t shout, and dragged me to a car."

"Mercy!" exclaimed Aunt Gertrude.

"But why’d he kidnap you if he was only after the secret radio?" Frank wondered.

"I’ll get to that." Joe took a breath. "When we got to his car, I tried to fight, but he’s as strong as an ox and he got an arm around my neck. Next thing I knew I was tied up in the back seat of his car. We drove for quite a ways and then he stopped and two men came over to his window. One of them said, ‘Is that you, Gross?’ and he growled, ‘No names!’ They saw me then, and asked who I was. Seems they didn’t know he was going to kidnap me. There was a big fight about it; they wanted him to release me but Gross kept saying, ‘He knows too much, he’s seen the rocks. Besides, his father’s a detective.’ The two guys kept calling him names and said he should’ve left me alone, they didn’t want the authorities after them for kidnapping. And then they realized it was too late; if they let me go, I’d make trouble for them as soon as I got back to Bayport. The other two decided Gross had a point and stopped arguing. They got into the car and we went on.

"It was only a few minutes later when he stopped again and one of them got out; I couldn’t get a good look, but there seemed to be a field on either side of us. Gross drove on again, but a few minutes later he lost control of the wheel and we went into a ditch. We were all pretty shaken up, but no one was hurt. The two of them were afraid someone would come along, so they took off the license plates and then we started walking up the road; Gross said there was an inn up ahead and he could use the phone to call someone. The other guy was carrying a blanket that he’d gotten out of the trunk, and I kinda wondered about that. Thought he was planning to sleep in one of the fields or something. I was thinking about how to make a break for it or alert someone when we turned off the road and into a lane. I could see the inn, at the end of the road, but a second or two later the guy with the blanket slugged me."

"And put you in the blanket," Frank interjected. "Chet and I talked to that innkeeper, and he said two guys carrying someone in a blanket had been there."

Joe nodded. "I started to wake up at some point and that was when they drugged me- made me swallow a pill. I passed out from it and didn’t wake up till the next morning, when they were carrying me out to Gross’s friend’s car- wrapped up in that blanket. It was hot," he added with a grimace. "Just as we got onto the Gresham road, I heard a car coming and managed to sit up. It looked like ours, so I tried to signal, but Gross reached back and shoved me down again." He looked at his brother inquiringly.

"That was us," Frank agreed. "Chet and I. We followed, but the fuel pump chose that exact time to conk out. So we lost ‘em." He shook his head, forcing his fists to unclench. "We were so close!" he muttered. "We notified the police and then went back to talk to that innkeeper."

Joe touched his brother’s arm lightly. "I knew you’d track me down."

Frank exhaled, releasing some of his tension. "So they didn’t stop in Gresham, knowing we were after them?"

"No, they cut down to Shore Road and we got into the cave through an abandoned mine shaft. They carried me, I couldn’t walk."

"And you were there for two days." Frank scowled, recalling the days and nights of fearful uncertainty. They’d all been too distracted to have much appetite, too anxious to sleep well. He’d struggled to keep his hopes up, to soothe his mother and aunt’s fears, but none of his reassurances had sounded convincing.

He’d racked his brain to come up with a plan, all the while reminding himself that getting too close to the kidnappers could spook them into moving- or into harming Joe. He’d strained to control his uncharacteristic impatience with the fruitless, seemingly slow-moving police search. He and Laura had debated whether to contact his father, wondering if even Fenton could find Joe- and wondering in sick fear just what they would find when they did locate him. The lack of any sort of ransom demand had added a horrible dimension to the whole business; a prisoner who was deemed useless would be treated badly- or murdered and disposed of...

"Most of the time I was alone. They’d fixed up those sacks for me to lie on, but they didn’t pay much attention to me. They brought in sandwiches and water and fed me some a couple times. And they gave me those sleeping pills whenever they were in there talking, so I wouldn’t overhear anything. I managed to spit it out twice, but the third time- last night- I swallowed it accidentally."

"So you heard what they were up to!" Frank exclaimed, shaking off his unpleasant memories and feeling proud of his brother’s cunning.

"I pretended to be sleeping and listened in," Joe agreed, smiling. "They’re smugglers-"

Aunt Gertrude’s mouth dropped open. "Smugglers! What kind?"

"Diamonds and electronic equipment. That’s probably why they wanted Mr. Wright’s special radio." Joe paused and his mother, who had grown paler during his explanation, asked if he was too tired to go on. "I’m all right," he replied, with a reassuring smile. "Just trying to remember all the details. One of the top men is named Chris, and I think he’s that big blond guy."

"If you’re right, we can concentrate on finding Chris and turning him over to the police," Frank replied, trying to keep his excitement restrained at this piece of news, but thrilled that they had something definite to go on.

"I would definitely like that!" Joe agreed. "You see, it was because of him that this whole thing happened. He’s got four or five of the gang working with him, and some others offshore. His guys in the cave- one tall and dark, one red-haired, and one short- were talking about how he delivers the diamonds he smuggles; he carries them in his briefcase. Gross said that Chris thought we’d seen them when his briefcase fell open, and Gross saw a chance to kidnap one of us to keep us from talking."

"That was stupid of them!" Frank snorted. "Even if we had seen them, we wouldn’t’ve known they were smuggled. Did they talk about Mr. Wright’s radio at all?"

"I’m not sure," Joe answered, frowning. "Gross did mention a secret gadget, but since they smuggle electronic equipment, it could be anything. They didn’t get it, did they?"

"No, they didn’t." Frank smiled at Joe’s look of relief. "I’d guess," he continued thoughtfully, "that someone connected with the smugglers figured we have it and thought it might be in our trunk. Did you hear any names?"

Joe shook his head. "They never mentioned a big boss, though I’m sure there is one. Oh, one man who came to the cave had a nasal voice- sounded like one of those burglars in Mr. Wright’s house."

"And he’s afraid of someone named Shorty," Frank recalled. "This is a real clue!" He grinned at his brother, who looked pleased at the praise. "So we’re up against a gang of smugglers," he added thoughtfully.

"I think," Aunt Gertrude said firmly, "that you boys should leave well enough alone! Joe is back safe and sound and we ought to be satisfied. If you try tracking those smugglers down, you’ll only end up in more trouble. Leave it to the police."

The boys exchanged a glance; Frank was about to respond when the phone rang, interrupting them. Frank got up quickly and took the call.

"Are you one of the Hardy boys?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"The inventor of the secret radio."

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. "And your name is...?"

"I don’t want to mention it over the phone. All I want to know is whether you still have my invention," the man replied brusquely.

Now doubly suspicious, Frank beckoned to his mother and quickly scribbled on the telephone pad, Have call traced- neighbors. Call police, give Joe’s clues, kidnappers. Laura nodded and quickly left the house as Frank continued the conversation. "Why are you so worried?" he parried.

"I want my invention back," the stranger said sharply. "I- I’ll feel safer if I have it under my eye."

A long back-and-forth followed. Frank kept an eye on the wall clock, judging whether his mother had had enough time to contact the police. Finally he concluded, "Sorry I can’t help you, sir, but you’ll have to get your information from my father, and he’s not home just now."

"Your father! Why, you impudent pup! I’ll be right over and you’ll give me that radio or I’ll- I’ll-"

A crash in Frank’s ear indicated that the irate caller had slammed down the phone. Wincing, he cradled the receiver and explained the situation to his brother and aunt while they waited for Laura Hardy to return.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.